Tell Me Straight
by TheScarletOctopus
Summary: Honesty may be the best policy- but speaking the truth to those we love is sometimes more painful than we ever dreamed.


**A/N: Just something to pass the time while I try to think of a good (or at least not terrible) ending for "Trina, Interrupted". And yes, I know it's horribly grim. Forgive me.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Victorious**_**.**

"Are those birds?"

He opens his mouth, about to say "No," then closes it again.

"Robbie? Are you still there?"

"Yes, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

"Then tell me – are those birds I'm hearing?"

He can't blame her for making the mistake. The chill wind blowing upon them over the gray waves does indeed sound eerily like the cries of seagulls. But the sky is empty, as it has been ever since they left port.

_Just humor her. What can it hurt?_

"…Yes. They're following us, soaring on the wind. It's…it's beautiful."

Her swift and almost angry reply jars him. "Robbie. We've known each other since we were four years old. Do you _really_ think I can't tell when you're lying to me?"

His cheeks flush in shame. For a moment, neither of them says a word. The deck rolls gently beneath them.

"I'm sorry, Cat," he says at last. "I wish…I wish there were birds."

She gropes about for his hand, finds it, and squeezes it hard. "Me too," she whispers.

The acrid smell of a far-distant fire mixes with the salty sea air.

"Robbie, do you believe in God?"

There is no question he'd less like to hear at this moment – no question in the world.

"Cat, please…I can't…"

"You don't think there's someone watching out for us?"

"Well, if there is, he sure wasn't watching too damn _closely_, was he?" Robbie snaps.

The tiny redhead shrinks back.

"Oh, Cat. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. It's none of my business, really. I just…"

"What?"

A fine mist of ash drifts over them. What remains of the sun descends into shadow.

"I want us to have something to hold on to. We need faith – faith in _something_. Otherwise, there's no hope left."

He knows that she is right, but this does nothing to change how he feels. As the wind dies down, the moans of the wounded below decks become just barely audible.

"I did believe in God, once. But not anymore. There's no justice in the world, Cat, and no saving grace. Only madness and chaos. This-" he gestures toward the receding Los Angeles skyline, forgetting for a moment that the gesture means nothing to her – "this proves it. Beyond a doubt."

"But we were spared. So many weren't, and we were. And at least you can still…you know. Even if I can't."

"It's pure chance, Cat. That's all. It was pure chance that we were far enough away not to be incinerated, and it's pure chance that you were facing the window and I wasn't. Have you ever heard of apophenia, Cat?"

She shakes her head.

"It's a psychological term. It means the human tendency to look for order and patterns in random events. We want to think that everything has a rhyme and reason behind it, but we're just fooling ourselves."

She considers this for a few seconds. "So, if you don't believe in God, or any kind of meaning in the universe – what _do_ you believe in?"

He turns to her and pulls her close, shutting his eyes, letting himself feel her warm breath on his neck.

"I believe in you, Cat. I believe in us. Together we can make it through. Together we can do anything."

"I hope you're right…oh, God, Robbie…" She begins to weep. He pulls a ragged handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the tears away.

He cannot help himself – he stares into her milky-white, irisless eyes. He knows that one day he will accept that Cat's blindness is permanent, but for now, he silently, fervently prays to the God he does not believe in: _Rip out my eyes. Rip them out, and give them to her. This isn't fair. She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't __**deserve**__ it, damn you!_

Booted footsteps behind them make them both turn.

"Lunch is served, in the mess hall," says the weary young ensign. _He can't be much older than I am_, thinks Robbie. "It's broth and onion-bread. Not very appetizing, I know, but it's all we've got."

"Better than nothing, right?" Robbie says. "Come on, Cat. Take my elbow. I'll lead you."

Her hand is so small, so fragile. He is always deathly afraid when he takes her in his arms that he might somehow break her, and never more so than today.

They descend with halting, careful steps, leaving the deck empty. The medical ship U.S.S. _Florence Nightingale_ whisks them away into the oncoming night, a night that may never end; and behind them, the irradiated ruins of what was once known as Los Angeles disappear from sight.

_**END**_


End file.
